WHW Blaine's Dad Found Out About Rachel's Party
by haleygirl
Summary: Starting a What Happened When series. This is a Prequel to What Happened When Blaine's Dad Found Out About the Fake ID and is set during the time of BIOTA. In this universe Blaine's dad still spanks him as punishment.
1. Chapter 1: Fri Feb 25 2011 7:30PM

Blaine snuck upstairs to the bathroom- the quietest place in Rachel's house at the moment- to make the call, silently hoping his mom would be the one to pick up.

"Anderson residence."

_Damn it_.

Dad was significantly harder to persuade than Mom in situations like this.

"Hey Dad, it's me- is it okay if I sleepover at Kurt's house tonight?"

"I thought you were going to the movies?" Mr. Anderson looked at his watch. He'd assumed they were already at the theatre.

"We... are, Dad. We went to get food first- but turns out the one we hoped to see is on later and... I'd have to rush if I don't want to miss curfew." Blaine bit his lip, hoping that sounded extra mature.

"Huh." Unfortunately, Mr. Anderson was not impressed. "You should have checked the movie times before you left, young man."

_Damn it_.

"Yes sir. I- sorry about that Dad." Blaine apologized.

"You're supposed to make your plans so that you have plenty of time to be home," Mr. Anderson lectured halfheartedly. Blaine held his breath expectantly. Mr. Anderson sighed. "Is your homework done?"

This was promising.

"Yes sir, I finished it before I met up with Kurt at his house."

"And where exactly are you now?"

"Breadstix, we- just- finished dinner," Blaine lied.

"WOOO-HOOOO, this is aMAZing..." Sam's voice yelled out as he emerged from the basement and stumbled around looking for the bathroom. Blaine, panicked, covered his phone as best he could to block the noise.

"What's that?" Mr. Anderson asked, confused.

"I- uh..." Blaine opened the door and made a face at Sam, gesturing to shut up and pointing to the phone. "It's just a... there's some drunk guy in the parking lot here Dad."

Sam smirked.

"Well, stay away from him, Blaine. Is he getting into a car?" Mr. Anderson said, a little alarmed.

Blaine was thrown by the question of what the imaginary vagrant was up to. "I- yes sir... I mean, no, I-," he took a breath, trying to focus and not fuck this up. "Yes I'm staying away from him, no he's not driving- he's just walking around down the street being stupid." Sam covered his mouth to hold his laughter in- this Blaine kid really needed a lesson in lying to parents. He should offer classes. Blaine mouthed, "Shut up" in his direction and then turned away from him, leaning against the door. "So, is it okay if I sleepover after the movie?"

Mr. Anderson paused, deciding. "Well, if your homework's done and it's okay with Kurt's family I... guess it's okay."

_Yes!_

"Oh yeah, Kurt already checked with his dad." Blaine sounded nonchalant but was internally leaping with excitement. In actuality, this was some of the best lying Blaine had ever pulled off in his life. It was a lot easier when he didn't have to look his dad in the eye.

"Fine then. But I don't want you staying up until all hours. And I want you back by early tomorrow afternoon because that sidewalk still hasn't been shoveled and if you want an allowance this week it better happen."

Blaine made a face. _Why do we have to live in Ohio?_ Snow shoveling was basically the curse of his entire existence this time of year. But he replied with an obedient "Yes, Dad," so his father didn't know. Blaine strained to hear his mother's voice in the background. She was saying something to his dad but he couldn't make it out.

"Okay... I'll address it with him..." Mr. Anderson's muffled voice said, before putting on a sterner tone. "Your mother's saying the hamper in your room is overflowing, son. That true?"

_Damn it, SO close_. Laundry was his other least favorite chore.

"Oh, right. Sorry Dad. I m-meant to put in a load tonight-"

"Well, 'meant to' doesn't get it done, Blaine."

"...Yes sir."

Sam plopped on the couch, his head dizzy. It was clear from the part of the conversation he could hear that Blaine could be awhile. Parents.

"It's not your mother's responsibility to pick up after you. You're not a little boy and if you act like one..."

"Yes sir, it was- totally irresponsible sir." Blaine interrupted quickly, not wanting the lecture to escalate into an ultimatum that would ruin the whole evening."I shouldn't have forgotten, but Dad, I promise I'll do it, the first thing when I get home." Blaine squinted and held his breath, hoping this would be enough. It was not out of the question that his father could change his mind and make him come home right _now_. He did that sort of thing.

"Alright then. But if we continue to have issues with forgetting chores, then you and I are going to be having a serious discussion."

Blaine blanched. "Serious discussion" was Mr. Anderson's code for "a good spanking."

"Ye-es sir. Th-that won't be- necessary, Dad."

"I hope not. But if you can't remember your basic obligations around here we'll have to see if a firm hand jogs your memory."

Blaine shifted uncomfortably. His father had a way of making him feel very, very small- even over the phone.

"I... understand sir. I'm real sorry I forgot sir." Blaine spoke quietly.

"Alright then. Good. You may stay over at Kurt's house after the movie. I expect you will respect his family's rules."

"Yes sir."

"But I want you home by 1:00 tomorrow. All your chores done before dinner."

"Yes sir. Th-thanks Dad."

"Okay. Have fun." Mr. Anderson hung up, rolling his eyes at his wife. Blaine was a good kid, but he was pretty sick of constantly having to nag him about his chores. His brother had never been this bad about it. If Blaine didn't get his act together he was going to be very unhappy with the consequences.

Blaine, for his part, clicked his phone off and jumped for joy. "It's done!" he hollered with glee.

"What's done?" Sam laughed.

"I can sleepover Kurt's."

Sam raised an eyebrow, wondering if there was more going on between Blaine and Kurt then he'd thought.

Blaine was too giddy (and clueless) to notice. "My dad's a hardass about curfew, but now I don't have to worry about sobering up beforehand," he explained.

Sam grunted a laugh, but Blaine was already on his way back to the basement to see what treasures Puck had pulled out of the liquor cabinet. He had snuck a beer a couple times at Warbler parties, and once with his older brother, but the options tonight looked a lot more interesting...


	2. Chapter 2: Sat Feb 26 8AM&Noon & Fri nt

It had been the Greatest. Party. Ever.

Kurt's friends were really cool. It had felt awkward at first, not really knowing everyone so well, but once everyone started drinking, people were super nice to Blaine. He'd really only hung out with Mercedes once before and she hadn't really had much to say, but tonight she was laughing at his jokes and being so sweet. Blaine thought most of the guys were pretty hot and would have been more than happy to have landed on any of them during spin-the-bottle, although from what he knew they were all straight.

Kissing Rachel had been... interesting. At first he had just thought it was funny, but somehow when he felt her lips touch his, he just wanted it to... continue. She was soft. It felt good. He really had never thought about girls much before, except for about two weeks in first grade when he wanted to marry his teacher. But if he was straight, he guessed maybe Rachel would be the kind of girl he'd go for. She was obviously crazy talented. And she had sort of stumbled into him at one point to gush about how good he'd been at Sectionals- it was just so flattering coming from her.

It didn't matter, really, because obviously it was just a silly game and Kurt had confided that she was into his stepbrother- but it gave him pause. He was so confused lately, about life and what he wanted, about dealing with his dad's constant lectures, about the embarrassing mess that was the Gap Attack- things were just all wrong lately. It was just so nice to have a night where he could just do what he wanted and be a teenager without a care in the world.

He did have a couple cares the next morning, though. Kurt's father woke him up and it took him a second to even recognize where he was. He sort of figured it out and fell directly back to sleep, not waking up again for an hour or two.

When he did really wake up he felt. like. death. He'd never really had a hangover before, at least not like this. He hadn't had _that_ much to drink- had he? Disgustedly rubbing his own drool from his fingers, Blaine shuffled to the bathroom, tripping over Kurt's rug on the way. That was a loss of equilibrium, he discovered, that his stomach really didn't like right now.

_Ugh_.

He tried to remember the trip from Rachel's house to Kurt's. He couldn't. The last thing he could remember was singing karaoke with Rachel, tripping over something and landing on the floor- which had seemed hysterical at the time. Right now he felt a little nervous about it, wondering if Kurt's friends had seen that and thought he was an idiot.

Finally reaching the bathroom, he steadied himself at the sink, glancing up at his image in the mirror.

_Wow. I look like hell._

His hair was everywhere, his face looked green.

_Good thing Kurt and I are just friends, if I had a boyfriend I'd never want him to see me like this._

The thought of Kurt did bring back a flash of memory of last night. He had been shakily climbing up the Hummel staircase, Kurt whispering for him to shut up and attempting to steady his gait. "You're going to wake up Dad and Carole!" he shushed. Blaine remembered stifling a little laugh at that as they (well, he) stumbled into Kurt's room. He remembered reaching a hand out to pet at Kurt's cheek, holding his gaze while his body kind of swam in place.

"I'm not going to get you in trouble, am I?" he had asked, seriously.

"No, Blaine, it's fine. My dad wouldn't want my friends driving home drunk."

For some reason that made Blaine feel all mushy. "Your dad," he cooed, "Is like the best dad on the whole of America. My dad would never understand about this. He's just- he never lets me do anything. He acts like I'm twelve years old." Kurt nodded patiently and gingerly removed Blaine's hand from his face. "And you, Kurt..." Blaine pointed and backed up until his leg his Kurt's bed and then laid across it. "Kurt, you're the nicest, most... compassionate..." he laid his hand to his heart but his brain felt too fuzzy to find an end to the sentence.

Kurt pulled off Blaine's shoes. He hadn't really expected they would both be sleeping in his bed. But then it wasn't like he had a sleeping bag handy. It seemed rude to put him on the floor. He hadn't thought this through, exactly. "Yeah. I'm uh, great, Blaine. Now you need to sleep."

Blaine sort of crab-crawled his way back to a pillow and haphazardly pulled the blanket out from under himself, giggling at how challenging that was to do. He couldn't focus on one thought, instead his mind swam around at random.

_God I'm drunk_.

_Kurt's so nice. _

_I want a dad like his... _

_I bet other teenagers don't have to do their own laundry all the time._

He dropped his head into the pillow, only vaguely aware of Kurt's movements around the room, pulling out pajamas and starting his nighttime moisturizing routine before his thoughts became entirely hazy and he passed out completely.


	3. Chapter 3: 12:30PM

Blaine turned on the water at the sink, about to splash some water on his face, when suddenly that dull gnawing feeling in his stomach did a flip-flop and it was all he could do to aim his face in the direction of the toilet in time. All of the whatever-it-was that he had had the night before seemed to be jumping out of him at once. His stomach wretched with the violence of it all.

_Oh my God I should never drink again._

"Blaine?" a timid knock came at the door. "Are... you okay?"

"Yeah Kurt, I'll be alright..."

"My dad and I made brunch-"

The image of food was enough to make Blaine throw up again.

_God this is embarrassing._

"Okay, um... let me know if you need anything." Kurt, grossed out and not knowing what else to say, wandered off.

Once he was sure he was done vomiting up his entire stomach contents, Blaine cleaned himself up a bit, rubbing some toothpaste on his finger to brush his teeth and get the godawful taste out of his mouth. He tried to fix his hair as best he could, but it didn't do much good. There was no way around it, he was a mess. Resigned to that fate, he plodded down the Hummel steps, praying they had coffee.

Kurt was in the kitchen talking to Finn when he got there. Blaine could hear the sounds of the Buckeyes' game coming from the living room. He hoped Kurt's dad would stay in there, he didn't really feel like dealing with an adult in this condition.

"Hurtin?" Finn whispered with a smirk.

Blaine put on a brave face. "I'll be alright."

"If you say so..." Kurt said, skeptical.

"Dude I was starting to think you'd never wake up. Even I don't sleep in till 12:30."

Blaine grinned. He started towards the magical coffee pot he saw on the counter. Then his brain did the math.

"W-wait. What did you say?"

Finn furrowed his brow. "I said I thought you'd never..."

"No. What time is it?"

"It's five of one, Blaine," Kurt answered.

In good traffic conditions, Blaine's house was 15-20 minutes away from here.

_Fuck._

"I have to go. I'll text you later. Thanks for everything tonight. You guys can sleepover my house sometime. I really have to go." Blaine spoke fast, energy flying everywhere as he scrambled about for his jacket, scarf, keys, and phone. The whirlwind of a teenager flew through the living room so fast- "Bye Mr. Hummell! Thank you!"- that Burt barely had time to blink.

As Blaine descended off the front stairs towards his car outside, he tried to check his text messages, stumbling over the fake rock the Hummels hid a house key under as he did so. Nothing from his dad yet. Good. Jumping in the car, Blaine turned on the engine and texted his dad's cell.

_**Had fun at Kurt's. Traffic on White Street. Going around the long way. Be home in 5 minutes.**_

Blaine hit send and zoomed down the street as fast as he knew how. A couple minutes later his phone made a beeping noise and when he reached a stoplight he opened it up.

_**I hope you're pulling over to text. 60 Minutes last week said teenagers have been texting and driving. At the hardware store, see you in a bit. Don't forget the sidewalk.**_

Blaine breathed a sigh of relief to learn that his father, this one time, wasn't waiting at his front door with a stopwatch or anything. Small miracles.

Ten minutes later- a new record- Blaine pulled into his empty driveway. Blaine's mother's car wasn't there either, so apparently she was out running errands of her own. This was fine by Blaine because his stomach still had that... yuck feeling... from having thrown up before, and he really didn't feel like dealing with his family right then. Stepping out of the driver's side door, he looked hopelessly over to the snow covered sidewalk. This was going to suck.

Blaine went into the house, dropping his scarf and coat on the bench. He desperately wanted to take a shower but he thought his dad might kill him if he wasn't shoveling when he came home. So he went up to his bedroom and pulled out some sweats. He changed, tossing his old clothes, which he had slept in last night, towards the hamper. He looked in the mirror and frowned.

_Yup. Still look like hell._

Sighing, Blaine went downstairs. He found a bagel to gnaw on and his stomach didn't mutiny immediately. He took that as a good sign, and grudgingly suited up for the winter weather again and headed out to do his forced labor for the day.

It was another fifteen minutes before his dad's car pulled in the driveway, but another forty-five before the whole damn sidewalk was clear. By the end of it Blaine was exhausted and miserable, his face stinging from the cold and his body aching from the double outrage of lingering hangover plus manual labor. He stumbled back into the house, boots kicked off before he was barely through the door. Dropping his outerwear on the bench, he scurried upstairs to the comfort of his bed, where he was more than happpy to fall fast asleep for awhile.


	4. Chapter 4: 6:15PM

Blaine was awoken by a knock at the door. He opened his eyes, his hands absently rubbing at them, and called, "Uh, – come in..."

Mr. Anderson popped his head in.

"Dinner's almost ready, go help your mother set the table —-"

"Oh yeah, okay..." Blaine shook his head a second to get fully awake. His arms still felt sore from shoveling but the rest of him was feeling more back to normal, thank goodness.

"Have you been asleep all this time?"

Blaine grabbed his sweatshirt and put it on himself as he crossed over to his dad.

"I uh, wasn't feeling so great this morning."

"You weren't?" Mr. Anderson, concerned, put the back of his hand against Blaine's forehead. "There something going around?"

"Nah, just, uh... too much... pizza. At Kurt's I mean."

Mr. Anderson smirked. Teenagers. "Well I hope you thanked Kurt's family for-"

Blaine's dad voice suddenly cut-off as his gaze had moved across the room. Blaine was confused, until he saw what his dad was looking at.

Mr. Anderson let out an irritated breath before he spoke, in that slow and deliberate way he always did when he was scolding his kid for the millionth time about something. "I thought you said you were going to take care of this laundry."

"I... uh- sorry. I- fell asleep."

"Last night I let you stay out because you said you were going to take care of these chores. You said the laundry would be done, 'first thing.'"

Blaine stammered, rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort. "Well- I- I did the shoveling, and... then I guess I fell asl-"

"What was our agreement."

"...Sir?"

"When were you supposed to have this very simple task done by?"

"D-dinner sir, but-"

"Right. Well it's dinner now. And it's not done. Your mother is not going to be pleased. I am not pleased." Mr. Anderson took hold of his son's arm, who gasped as he spun him so his weight landed against his hip. "And I cannot for the life of me understand why this-" his left arm reached over Blaine's back, pushing him down and gripping him close while he punctuated his words with sharp swats to his son's backside, "-is **SMACK** such a **SMACK** big **SMACK** issue for **SMACK** you! **SMACK** **SMACK**"

Blaine had winced at the familiar sting, trying not to yelp too loudly, but the whole thing had happened so fast he'd barely registered what was happening before he'd felt the slaps descend.

Blaine stumbled forward a few steps as his father released him. Blaine's hands rushed to his bottom immediately, as he caught his breath. The sweats he was wearing did not provide all that much protection, he discovered. It was only a few swats, but they had been well-placed and his father had been angry. They had hurt plenty. He tried to maintain some level of dignity, though, by trying to keep his voice from cracking now. "I'm... sorry sir."

"Good. I told you yesterday if you're going to act like a little boy you're going to be feeling the consequences a lot more often, young man. I'm not putting up with this nonsense from you. Am I clear?"

"Y-es sir." Blaine said, tense, his eyes staring at the floor and heat rising in his face.

"Now. You are going to gather up enough for a load, and put it in the washer. You are going to go apologize to your mother for not meeting your responsibilities. And then, you will take your dinner plate back to your room because the only places you're going to be the rest of the night are here and the laundry room. Got it?"

Blaine nodded to the floor, muttering a "Yes Dad" and, still not daring to look up at his father's angry face, scurried towards the clothes on the floor first piling colors on top of each other. He pulled several sweaters out of the hamper as well and then, lifted the whole messy pile and rushed to bring them downstairs. He was so hurried he didn't even notice the red cardigan as it fell from the pile on the stairs as he went down.


	5. Chapter 5: 6:25PM

Mrs. Anderson was just putting the salad on the table as Blaine came into the kitchen, mass of laundry in hand. She had heard Gabe's "lecture voice" upstairs and wondered what it was about this time. Now it was clear. She gave Blaine a "look" and he nodded sheepishly before heading down to the basement. Shaking her head, she took off her apron and began wiping down the kitchen counter. She could hear the water from the washer running downstairs when Blaine came back up.

He hung against the corner island, not knowing what to do with his hands. He always looked smaller in times like this, she mused. She knew what was coming. The Andersons had always made a point with their sons about apologies being important. She put on her best Mom Face and waited.

Blaine made an effort to look her in the eye. "I should have taken care of the laundry before and I'm sorry."

Mrs. Anderson nodded. "Yes, you should have."

Blaine shifted uncomfortably.

"Are we going to be going through this all over again next week?"

"No, Mom." He scuffed at the floor with his toe. The whole looking her in the eye thing wasn't working out anymore.

Taking pity on her kid, Mrs. Anderson sighed. "Blaine, come here," she said, not unkindly. Blaine was embarrassed and really would have preferred to go hide in his room, but he shuffled over. She put her arms around him in forgiveness, and it made him feel a little better. Then, holding his chin, she said, "I know you don't like to be in trouble with your father but I can't just let these things go all the time, Blaine. You need to be more responsible." Blaine nodded, obedient. "Now," she said sweetly, "is my youngest ready for some dinner?"

Blaine looked at the floor. "Dad said I have to eat upstairs."

Mrs. Anderson raised an eyebrow. "...I see. Well then you'll need a plate." she said, handing one to him. "I had made some oatmeal raisin cookies for you..." she said, pulling out the cookie sheet from the oven and placing it on the island.

Blaine couldn't help a grin. His mom always made those just for him.

"Of course, I don't know if you deserve any..." she teased.

Blaine tilted his head and grinned. Mrs. Anderson made a show of considering.

"Please?" Blaine begged with a smile as he started putting salad onto his plate.

Mrs. Anderson was already putting two cookies on a napkin for him. "You know, I spoil you entirely too much, young man," she said, putting the cookies on the table and giving Blaine's bottom a swat.

"Yes, Mom." Blaine said, wincing slightly, but smiling.

Mrs. Anderson smiled and walked to the kitchen doorway to call up the stairs. "Gabe, dinner's ready!" she called. Blaine's red cardigan was strewn on the bottom of the stairs. Rolling her eyes, she picked it up and began to fold it. She was holding it there when Blaine came by to kiss her cheek.

"Thanks for the cookies Mom." He started up the stairs, plate and napkin-full of cookies in hand, just as his father started descending.

"You dropped this," she said as she laid the cardigan over the banister.

"Oh okay, I'll put it in the next load." Blaine said, trying to rush up the stairs faster at the sight of his dad.

Once the door to Blaine's room closed, Mr. Anderson asked his wife. "He apologize to you?"

"Yes. I'm sorry you have to get in the middle of us over this."

"We need to be strict on the little things or we're going to have a lot bigger problems to deal with."

Mrs. Anderson nodded. It was a familiar theme in the house. Sometimes she felt her husband was too firm, but all in all their children were well-mannered and got good grades. They had a lot to be thankful for. She reached up and kissed her husband softly. "Guess it's just you and me for dinner then. There's chili."

"Great."

Mrs. Anderson absently touched her face as her husband walked away, and frowned. What was that...? She put her fingers to her nose and then looked at the cardigan on the banister. She picked it up, and held it to her face. Looking up at Blaine's closed door, she sighed.

"Where did Blaine sleepover last night again?" she asked, cardigan still in hand as she walked back into the kitchen.

"Uh, Kurt's." Mr. Anderson was sitting down at the table. "Uh- Hummer, Hummel? Something like that. The new kid at Dalton."

"We know anything about this kid?"

Mr. Anderson looked up, confused. "He was the one you met at the Sectionals performance, remember? Brown hair. Seemed nice enough... why?"

Mrs. Anderson dropped the cardigan on the island.

"Because this smells like beer."


	6. Chapter 6: 6:40PM

"It smells like WHAT?" Mr. Anderson didn't wait for an answer, he was out of his chair to see for himself in seconds.

Mrs. Anderson sighed. "Now don't completely flip out about this..."

"Flip out? I'm going to-"

"You're going to have dinner with me." Mrs. Anderson's gaze was firm. "You're going to calm down before you deal with this."

"Rosalie, this is exactly what I was talking about before. He's getting out of hand and-"

"He's not getting out of hand. He's being a teenager. And aside from being forgetful about his laundry he's generally a really well-behaved one. We don't know what happened. Maybe there's... an explanation."

Gabe gave Rosalie a look. She put her hands up. "Maybe not. But if you go up there all upset, I know you and I know you're going to regret it."

Mr. Anderson leaned against the island, frustrated. "You're saying I shouldn't punish him?"

"No. I'm saying you need to calm down first. And then... find out what he has to say."

Mr. Anderson rubbed his forehead, tense, when he had a sudden realization. "When I was upstairs, before- he said he hadn't been feeling well this morning."

Mrs. Anderson raised an eyebrow. "Well then. It sounds like maybe Blaine did some things last night that had some natural consequences. Greg experimented when he was his age too-"

"Yeah and when I found the empty cans in _Greg's_ room I made good and sure he didn't sit for a week. And it was never a problem again."

"Of course you did," Mrs. Anderson soothed, moving over to her husband and touching his chest. "You're right. We don't let these things go. I'm not telling you to. But there's never been an issue like this with Blaine before. If you're going to-" Mr. Anderson opened his mouth to object and she corrected herself, "-_when_ you discuss this with him... you need to be be fair and not go overboard. If Blaine's been drinking, it's disappointing. But it doesn't make him a bad kid. If you go up there angry, we're going to be in a situation where he just resents you and tries to keep more secrets like this in the future."

Gabriel Anderson took a deep breath. She was right. Years back, he had dealt with Blaine's older brother's behavior while he was angry on too many occasions and come to regret most of them. He had no problem disciplining his sons if he felt they needed it, but he wasn't always clear that he did it because he cared about them. Spoiled children grow up to be adults who have a lot more problems than a little spanking. But that time with Greg and the empty beer cans... It was one of only a handful of times he'd taken his belt to his sons. It was exactly what _his_ father would have done, he had reasoned. But it had been too far, he realized in retrospect, and he probably wouldn't have done it if he'd cooled off first. Things were tense between him and Greg for months after that. With Blaine he'd tried to make a better effort to bond than he had the first time around- taking him to football games, rebuilding that car- but it seemed like the older he got he felt less and less connection to him. He just never felt like he knew what was going on in his head, and his entire relationship was quickly being reduced to keeping him in line, being little more than a warden. Rosalie was much better at striking a balance than he was.

"Okay," Mr. Anderson conceded, sitting down and spooning some chili on his plate. "I'll discuss it with him tonight. If he's been drinking, he's going to be punished. But I will hear what he has to say first."

"Sounds reasonable to me." Mrs. Anderson said, satisfied as she sat down to eat herself.


	7. Chapter 7: 7:30PM

Blaine came back downstairs a half hour later with the second load of laundry. His mother was cleaning up the dinner plates. To his relief, Dad was nowhere in sight.

"Oh, here, Blaine. Your... sweater." she said, adding it to the pile.

"Oh right, thanks Mom." he said, his voice muffled behind all that laundry. Mrs. Anderson watched as he went downstairs to the basement. Things were a lot more cut and dry when he was little, she mused. She hoped they were doing right by him, and that even if Blaine hated all his rules now he'd appreciate them when he got older.

After putting the clothes from the washer into the dryer, Blaine picked up the sweater at the top of the new pile. In their ongoing war over laundry, his mom was always hassling him about everything being inside out. Which was stupid, in his opinion. It wasn't like it made a difference how clean the clothes got or anything. Sighing, he pulled the left sleeve in and righted the sweater, but suddenly stopped when he noticed...

_Oh my God._

The sleeve reeked of beer. Could his clothes really still smell like this a day later? What the hell-? Blaine shot a nervous glance to the basement stairs. Did his mother know?

His mind flashed back to the moment he'd fallen after singing karoke. He'd been laughing hysterically and rolled over, when he'd felt something very cold and wet up his arm. Someone must have spilled about half a beer because it was soaking his sleeve through. He'd thought it was funny at the time, and had hobbled up, shaking his arm as the alcohol dripped from it.

"Rachel you owe me a new sweaterrrrrr..." he'd said.

Kurt, mortified, came up behind him at that point, saying, "Okay, maybe it's about time we got you home."

"Oh no, it's okay, I meant to tell you- I called my dad and he said I could sleepover."

Kurt was a little caught off guard by this revelation and didn't know what to say. Truth be told he'd had a fantasy or two about Blaine being in his bedroom at night but...

"Well that's good dude," Finn laughed, interrupting. "Cuz there's no way we're letting you drive home tonight."

Blaine had laughed at that, his head swimming. "Nooooo... that would be kinda a bad ideaaaa."

Thinking about it now, Blaine felt pretty embarrassed. Everyone else had been drunk though, so he prayed none of Kurt's friends thought he was an idiot. Maybe they wouldn't even remember. He couldn't believe he'd fallen asleep still wearing that cardigan. How Kurt ever fell asleep with that stench next to him was a mystery. That thought sort of made him laugh. First time he could technically say he'd slept in a bed with another boy, and he didn't even remember it. _Thank God Kurt's cool._

Putting the cardigan in the washer at last, Blaine reassured himself. There was no way his parents knew. The only reason he'd even noticed is that he was doing laundry- they'd never guess he'd lie to them like that. He'd been so careful. Blaine sighed. It wasn't like he enjoyed lying to his parents. He really didn't do it very often, partially because he always knew he'd get a spanking for it if they found out. There was nothing Mom and Dad got madder about than lying. But he also didn't like having to walk around feeling guilty about it. And worrying about getting caught was never a picnic either.

Blaine walked a little slower on his way up the basement stairs than he had gone down them. When he got up to the kitchen, his mother was still there, making tea. He wondered how the Buckeyes had done today and was surprised his dad wasn't watching ESPN.

"Is Dad in his den?" Blaine asked.

"Your father went for a walk."

_A walk? It's like 40 degrees outside. He only goes for a walk when he... needs to blow off steam._

"Oh. ...Mom is he still mad about the laundry?"

Rosalie looked at her son, considering what to say. "Well I'm sure he's... disappointed that he can't trust you to do what you're supposed to do."

_Ugh_.

Blaine hated it when his parents talked about being disappointed in him. It was the worst thing they could say.

"But Mom, he can trust me, I just- I got lazy, I said I was sorry- I don't know what he wants. I'll do better."

Mrs. Anderson nodded, pouring out her tea. "I think you'd better get back on upstairs. Your father'll be up later to discuss things with you."

"H-he will? Why?"

Now Blaine was nervous. Maybe they did know about the beer. Maybe they had called Kurt's family and knew he hadn't gone to the movies. Oh God what else could there be to discuss?

Mrs. Anderson shrugged. "It's between you and him, Blaine. Your father has always been... very reasonable, as long as you and your brother were honest with him." And with that she walked into the living room.

Blaine watched after her. Probably he was overreacting and his dad just wanted to lecture him on responsibility, maybe hold his allowance over his head over this stupid laundry business. There was no reason to believe that his parents knew he had lied about last night. If they knew, they would have already said so, right? But what did Mom mean, that he just had to be honest? He hadn't lied about the laundry. He'd just been an idiot and fallen asleep when he was supposed to be doing it.

Walking up the stairs, the weight of all the lies he'd told started to press on him. Dad was "disappointed," she'd said.

_Man if Dad's disappointed in me now, I don't want to know what he'd have been if he'd seen me last night. This sucks._


	8. Chapter 8: 7:15PM

Before Gabriel Anderson had gone out, he had gone onto the Dalton website in his den. There was a link on the site for parents where, with a password, he could get access to the student directory. He found the listing and wrote down the home number. Folding it up in his jacket pocket, he called out to Rosalie. "I need a walk."

Mrs. Anderson nodded from the kitchen entryway. "It's cold out."

"I'll be alright." Mr. Anderson grabbed a sock hat and headed out. The neighborhood was quiet. Of course it was. It was 7:30 at night in Ohio in the middle of winter. But there was something lovely about the snow blanketing all the houses. The air was crisp, but it was what he needed right now. The neighbor kids had been sledding all afternoon, and there was a plastic blue sled next to an unspoken for glove in front of the house on the corner. The sight made Mr. Anderson nostalgic. When his boys were little they would beg for him to take them sledding at the first sight of snow. Back then he was the only breadwinner, and his time was at a premium, but he always made time on a weekend to take them down the road to the hills at Forest Park if he could. "Those are the best hills," Greg used to say with youthful seriousness as he lectured his adoring little brother on the important things to know about winter. It was clear, even then, that Blaine wanted to be Greg when he grew up. Gabe used to take the boys around the long way back just because it was funny to listen to Greg babble on with authority. Gabe's favorite though, was riding with Blaine from the top of the park's highest hill, because he would squeal the whole way down. Every time. It was his favorite sound in the world.

Pausing at the corner, he sighed. It was a lot more fun to be the dad who went sledding than to be the dad who had to track down his kid's lies. He took out his cell phone and the folded piece of paper.

"Hello?" it was a teenage voice.

"Uh yes, um- is this Kurt?"

"No this is Finn, you need Kurt?"

"Oh- no. Are your parents home?"

"BURT! Phone!" Mr. Anderson jumped at the yell in his ear. It was just the way Greg used to call for people on the phone and it drove him crazy.

"Jeez Finn. Who is it?" a man's voice was heard in the background.

"I dunno." came Finn's reply. Mr. Anderson smirked. There was something a little gratifying in hearing someone else's kid be exasperating.

"Hello?"

"Yes, is this Mr. Hummel?" It was Hummel, right? Now he couldn't remember for sure.

"Yes, this is Burt Hummel."

"Great. Uh, my name's Gabriel Anderson. I don't think you and I've met before, but my son Blaine goes to school with Kurt at Dalton."

"Oh. Yes of course. Uh, Blaine's a... nice kid."

"Well thank you for that. Unfortunately, I needed to call to kind of check up on him. I know he slept over at your house last night..."

"Yeah, he did."

"I hope he was polite and cleaned up after himself." Mr. Anderson wasn't even sure what he wanted to ask at this point.

"Can you- hold on a minute?" Finn was doing a terrible job of covering his eavesdropping and it was clear to Burt that this was going to be a father-to-father kind of chat.

"Oh, uh, sure."

The line went quiet while Burt went out to the garage.

"...Sorry about that. Uh, yeah Blaine slept over here last night I guess."

"You- you guess?"

"Well Kurt didn't exactly give me a heads up and..."

"Okay, woah. Sir, I am very sorry. I don't allow my son to just invite himself over to people's houses."

"Mr. Anderson, it's okay-"

"No, it's not, he told me Kurt had asked you before they went to the movies, and I have to apologize for any inconvenience he caused you."

Burt paused. Apparently this Blaine kid was in a heap of hot water. "... He said they went to the movies?"

Mr. Anderson sighed. "That's why I called you. I have... some reason to believe he's not been telling me the whole truth and I'd like to find out what really happened."

Burt hedged. "Well, maybe they... watched a movie on DVD or something... but it's my understanding he was with Kurt and my stepson at a party last night."

"Where there was drinking."

Burt mouth-opened. "Uh, well. I just found out about this myself, Mr. Anderson. But it seems that, yes, there was some drinking going on. My sons swear up and down that they weren't involved in that but I don't know, with teenagers it's hard to-"

"_My_ kid was drinking though."

Burt took a breath. Blaine seemed like a nice enough kid, it felt sort of rotten to get him in even more trouble than he already was in. "Kurt told me that Blaine had some to drink and they wanted him to sleepover so he wouldn't be driving home. He did look... pretty green this morning."

Mr. Anderson absorbed this information. "That's about what I guessed. His older brother's in college now, but my wife and I have... been down this road before. Maybe being good and hungover taught him a couple things. But I'd rather he be hungover at someone's house than driving drunk, so I do appreciate your sons looking out for him."

"They're good kids. Believe me, I'm not happy they were at a party with alcohol either, but I know Kurt's friends- they're all good kids. I'm pretty sure it was the kids from his old glee club and they're loud but, from what I can tell, they're harmless."

"I don't like my son lying to me." It was more of a confession than anything else. It was... embarrassing, and he didn't have anyone to talk to about these things. Never in his life had he been in a position where someone could legitimately say that his kid was any kind of bad influence, and he was just grateful that Mr. Hummel wasn't saying that.

"Yeah. That sucks." Mr. Anderson smirked at the bluntness- and truth- in that statement.

"So what would you do?" the question came out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Burt leaned against his car in the garage, considering. "Tough call. With lying, sometimes I can just wait it out until Kurt's so wracked with guilt he confesses, honestly."

Mr. Anderson chuckled. "Nice."

"I don't know. I guess I would give him the opportunity to come clean first."

"You sound like my wife."

Burt laughed. "Well she sounds like a very smart lady!"

"She is." Mr. Anderson smiled.

"I don't know what to tell you, Mr.-"

"Gabe."

"Gabe. Sometimes teenagers make mistakes. They seem grown but they still need direction sometimes."

Mr. Anderson nodded.

"I was a single parent for a long time. Years. It's a wonder my kid isn't totally messed up. But I've just tried to make sure he knows I love him and deal with the bumps in the road the best I can."

Mr. Anderson hadn't known that. He couldn't conceive of raising a kid on his own. Wow.

"Well, Kurt seems like a nice kid, Mr. Hummell."

"Burt."

"Burt. Thanks for the advice. I hope Blaine hasn't worn out his welcome, I definitely think he needs to apologize to you for-"

"It's not necessary. We were... happy to have him." Burt didn't mention that he'd basically just told Kurt not to have Blaine sleepover anymore- but not because of his drunkenness. That would have been a lot... longer... of a conversation.

Mr. Anderson decided not to argue. "Well thanks. I hope Kurt is enjoying Dalton. I understand that there was some trouble at his old school and Blaine uh, went through some of that sort of thing a couple years back too, so... It's just a great school."

"Well thank you. It was a tough decision, but I think, the right one- for now anyway. Blaine seems to have really shown Kurt the ropes- he talks about him all the time. He's been a real role model."

For the first time that night, Mr. Anderson felt pride in his son. It was priceless. "Well thank you, Burt. My wife and I have tried to raise him right."

"I'm sure you're doing fine. I'll call you next time I have a crisis. Which will probably be round about tomorrow since I've got _two_ teenagers here."

Both men chuckled and said their good nights. Gabriel was just coming back to his house, which was good because the cold was starting to get to him. He wasn't expecting the evening to go pleasantly, exactly, but he wasn't furious about it anymore. This was just part of having a kid, he told himself. And if he went up there and Blaine just continued to try to lie to his face, well- he wouldn't be happy, but it wouldn't be the end of the world. He just needed some direction.


	9. Chapter 9: 7:45PM

Blaine heard the door open downstairs and immediately tensed. He had been lying on his bed, thinking about everything since he'd gotten upstairs. Kurt had texted him, teasing him about the whole Rachel thing and it had just made him remember last night and feel more annoyed with himself. He really didn't think he drank _that_ much. But the rolling on the floor with beer dripping from his sleeve wasn't his finest moment. But more than that, he was starting to feel really guilty. His mom had to go and talk about his dad trusting him and now he felt like a jerk. It's not like he had done a drug deal or something, he reasoned. Probably all teenagers lie to their parents sometimes. He wondered if all teenagers felt as bad about it.

He still wondered, in the back of his mind, if his mom had noticed about the cardigan. Maybe she hadn't. Or maybe she had and hadn't said anything to his dad. But if she _had_ told his dad- he would hit the roof, Blaine was sure. Oh my God, what if she knew and hadn't told him yet. If he confessed now, he'd be in trouble, but it'd be a lot worse if his dad accused him. Covering his eyes with his arm, he sighed. Either way would suck, because either way his dad would say he lied. Which... was true. And lying _always_ earned a person a spanking around here. It was basically his dad's biggest rule. He was screwed. Probably the best thing was to just hope his mom never noticed, that his dad would never find out, and that his conscience would eventually shut up.

Sighing, he rolled his head over to the side to check the clock. Time to bring the last load down.

Blaine gathered up the last of the clothes from the hamper and made his way downstairs.

When he had finished in the basement, Blaine came back up the stairs to find his father pouring himself a pot of tea.

"Hey."

"Blaine." Mr. Anderson always defaulted to short and stern when Blaine was on thin ice. But then he regretted the tone. "...That the last of the clothes?" he asked, trying to sound conversational rather than confrontational.

Blaine nodded. "Yes sir."

"Well that wasn't so hard, right?" Mr. Anderson's attempt at being- friendly (?)- in these circumstances was nothing short of pathetic.

"...No sir."

There was a pause. Mr. Anderson reached into his pocket. "Well. I have your allowance. I wasn't happy about this laundry business but you did shovel the walk, so... here."

Blaine smiled, grateful. He hadn't really been sure if he was going to get it after all this. Course his Dad didn't know the half of what had gone on. Probably if he did he'd never get an allowance again... "Th-thanks Dad. I'm real sorry about being so late with stuff."

Fidgety, Blaine took the cash and started towards the stairway.

"I'll be up in a bit to check on you, son."

Blaine swallowed, not looking at his dad. "Yeah, uh, I guess... we should talk."

Finding this promising, Mr. Anderson got the nerve to put a hand on Blaine's shoulder. "Seems like it might be a good idea." He gave his son's shoulder a pat. "I'll be up in little while."

Blaine nodded and slipped away upstairs.

Mr. Anderson smiled after him and then went into the living room with his tea, bringing a second cup to Mrs. Anderson.

"How is he?" she asked, half her attention on an _I Love Lucy_ rerun on the television.

"Poor kid. I think he feels guilty as sin."


	10. Chapter 10: 8:20PM

Blaine collapsed on his bed as soon as he got there. God this sucked. He should confess. No, he couldn't confess, he was already in enough trouble today. Maybe he should confess to part-

His thoughts stilled at the knock at the door. "Come in..." he called, trying to sound casual.

Gabriel Anderson came in slowly, shutting the door behind him. He leaned against the door, looking at the boy he loved. He was still just a boy, he told himself. Mostly.

"Blaine... I wanted to come back and talk to you because-"

"I lied, Dad."

The words pierced through the air so fast that neither of them breathed for a couple seconds. Blaine regretted blurting them out immediately on the one hand and felt a twinge of relief on the other. He swallowed, hard, watching his father.

Nodding slightly, Mr. Anderson slowly moved over to the chair by Blaine's bed, putting his schoolbag on the floor. Biting his lip, Mr. Anderson sat and waited. Blaine sat up in bed, studying his stockinged feet. But it seemed like Blaine had lost the power to speak. All he could think of was that he was going to be in trouble and that his dad would be disappointed, more disappointed than he already was, and God why wasn't he as perfect as his brother, and...

"Blaine. Whatever it is. ...We'll deal with it." Mr. Anderson said, quiet. This was his kid beating himself up. He just needed to get it out and be done with it.

Blaine looked up at his Dad, sort of relieved at the gentle tone, but skeptical. He took a breath. "I didn't go to the movies last night. I went to a... party with some of Kurt's friends."

Mr. Anderson nodded. Blaine sort of didn't know what to make of that and looked at him, quizzically. His dad leaned forward and sighed. "Blaine, why didn't you just say you were going to a party. There was no need to lie about that-"

"Because-" Blaine looked away. "Because I knew Rachel's parents were out of town and... I figured you would ask to speak to them first." Blaine frowned, thinking of how his father must hate him right now. If he was his son he'd hate him. This was the worst thing he'd done in a long while.

"I see... Blaine, what happened at the party?"

Blaine was so confused by how calm his father seemed. He had played a lot of scenarios in his mind when he was contemplating coming clean, but his father hadn't been calm in any of them. He almost wished he'd start yelling at him. This tension was killing him.

"This guy... broke into her dads' liquor cabinet. And people started drinking stuff, and... Um. I was drinking."

Mr. Anderson appeared almost disinterested. "What did you drink?"

Blaine sniffled back a tear. It was just mortifying to admit. "I... don't remember."

Mr. Anderson raised an eyebrow, but didn't respond otherwise.

"I think- I drank a beer and... like a rum and coke or something. God I don't even know." He covered the side of his face with one of his hands.

"Well... you don't have... a lot of experience with that... I'm guessing. But it's not a great idea to mix different alcohol in one night like that. I gotta bet you felt pretty bad this morning."

Blaine nodded, embarrassed. "I threw up at Kurt's house."

"So... not sick on pizza, huh?"

"...No."

"Must have made shoveling the sidewalk unpleasant."

Blaine chuckled, in spite of himself. He actually held his Dad's gaze for a bit. "I can't even begin to explain how much."

Mr. Anderson smiled, but then swallowed the smile in an attempt to put on a Dad Face. He was quiet, thoughtful. Blaine couldn't figure out why he wasn't reaming him out yet. It made the whole thing that much more uncomfortable.

"So... let's see. When you called me last night. You weren't at Breadstix."

_God he's going to lay out every little thing._

"...No sir."

"No crazy people in the parking lot."

Blaine had forgotten all about that. God he was an idiot. "No Dad."

"And you had never planned to go to the movies."

"Well, we had talked about it before Kurt heard about the party... but, no."

Mr. Anderson paused. "Did you ask the Hummels if you could stay over?"

Blaine hadn't expected that question. "Uh. Not... exactly."

"Not exactly?"

"Well Kurt had always said his dad was cool with people staying over. So I knew it- would be okay." Wait, was his dad going to be mad about _that_? "It was just that when everyone started drinking it seemed like people were going to be staying late, and..."

"You knew you couldn't show up on _my_ doorstep for curfew if you were going to be drunk." Mr. Anderson supplied, his voice hardening. His patience had been admirable up to this point, but there was a limit.

Blaine looked at his dad, then away, and nodded, miserable.

"And this morning, when you texted me. I'm guessing there was no traffic on White Street?"

Okay now that was mortifying. With all this, his dad was actually going to make a deal out of that one little white lie? Blaine sighed. It wasn't even worth trying to cover anything up anymore.

"No Dad. I was running late. So I kinda made that up too." Blaine closed his eyes. He coudn't even remember ever being in this much trouble before. And he totally deserved it.

"Sounds like you've been carrying around a lot of guilt, son."

Blaine's face scrunched and he shrugged at that. Trying to keep it together.

"I guess I'm... in trouble."

He guessed? Mr. Anderson didn't know whether to laugh or hit the roof. But he held it in.

"Do you think you deserve to be?"

Blaine hesitated and nodded. "Yes sir."


	11. Chapter 11: 8:40PM

"Well. I agree." Mr. Anderson said simply.

Blaine stared ahead. His dad continued.

"I had a feeling something was up. But that's a whole lot of lying Blaine."

Blaine braced himself. This was it.

"Yes sir."

"Now what do you think my father would have done if I was in the tenth grade, drinking alcohol at a party with no parents home, and lying about it every step of the way."

Blaine stopped breathing, eyes wide in a panicked looked to his dad. This was the worst possible scenario. His dad was going to use his belt.

Seeing Blaine's ashen face, Mr. Anderson softened. It wasn't worth torturing him, he clearly felt bad enough. "Blaine. I'm not... going to do that. -This time." he amended, for good measure. "I'm not my father. And you're not me. Or Greg. You're barely sixteen and sometimes... teenagers make mistakes. Even I make mistakes. And honestly? There is a part of me that would really like to- give you a taste of your grandfather's medicine for this behavior- but it would be a mistake. I punish you because you need to learn right from wrong, not because I need to get my anger about it out at you. And besides, it can't have been easy to admit you did wrong. That goes a long way with me."

Blaine blinked hard at the tears sneaking into his eyes. His father had never said anything like that to him before. All he wanted was for his dad to be proud of him and it killed him that he had messed up so much.

Mr. Anderson looked away, pretending not to notice the tears. He really didn't want to go through with anything now. Usually if there was going to be any heart-to-heart in these situations it was after the culprit had been chastised. He sighed.

"That said, you shouldn't be drinking. It's illegal and you kids are lucky you didn't end up with alcohol poisoning or something. And well, ...you know my policy on lying, so..." he let the words hang in the air, "... you will be punished, in the... usual way."

Blaine sniffed, putting on a brave face as he absorbed all this.

"...Yes sir." he said, very quietly.

"And I'm afraid you've lost your weekend privileges next week."

Blaine nodded, biting his lip. It was a wonder his dad was entertaining "weekend privileges" at any point in the future.

Mr. Anderson patted his son's leg. "Okay, then. We should... get this over with."

Obedient, Blaine slipped out of bed and stood in front of his dad. This was going to suck, but there was something comforting in- the ritual of it all. No more wondering what was next.

Blaine stared at his dresser while his dad pulled his sweats down past his knees. He took a breath and forced himself to crawl over his father's lap. He closed his eyes at the familiar embarrassment of feeling a hand touch to his waist and lift his navy boxer briefs up and off his bottom until they too, were scrunched up around his knees. He felt a large hand, resting heavy on his rear.

"Blaine, I don't like doing this, but you have to learn that telling the truth isn't an option in this house. It's an expectation."

"Yes sir." Blaine whispered, eyes still shut.

Mr. Anderson tightened his grip on Blaine's back, lifted his hand, and began spanking him.

Blaine tried, desperately, to be stoic as he felt each sharp slap. Truth be told Mr. Anderson wanted this over sooner rather than later, so he was probably spanking a little harder than usual in an effort to get through it quicker. It stung, bad, but Blaine wasn't about to whine or complain. He deserved punishment, and something in him was relieved to not have to carry around the guilt anymore.

Try as he might not to squirm though, the sensation of being swatted in the same places over and over again built a smarting heat all across his bottom, the intensity of which eventually got his legs involuntarily twisting in protest. A series of stifled whimpers filled the air, in spite of his efforts. He looked at the floor, steadying himself by holding onto the leg of the chair. It was a familiar position, one he did fairly well at avoiding most of the time. Now that Greg was in college, he was pretty sure his father wouldn't threaten _him_ with this position anymore, but it would remain for a few more years yet for Blaine. Feeling his father's hand slap hard from cheek to cheek right now, Blaine had to admit- it was a persuasive punishment. It hurt, but above all it was a position that made him feel like a child, and that is why it worked so well. Embarrassed tears trickling down his face, he felt, as he always did at this moment, that he would do anything to avoid another trip over his father's knee again.

Mr. Anderson had been listening for those tears, watching for the moment when the tension fell out of Blaine's back and he simply submitted to the punishment. Relieved, though he would never admit it, Mr. Anderson was ready to drive the point home and then set the poor kid free.

"Blaine Gabriel Anderson **SMACK** What is the punishment **SMACK** for lying **SMACK** **SMACK** in this house?"

Blaine choked a sob. "Hmm. A sp-spanking sir."

Mr. Anderson nodded. "Are you **SMACK** going to be **SMACK** telling your mother **SMACK** and I **SMACK** any more lies **SMACK** anytime soon? **SMACK** **SMACK**"

Blaine had lost all ability for stoicism by this point. "Owwwwwwwwwwww. I owww n-nooo sirrrrr. I'm sorry Dad. I'm sorry." And with that Blaine began full out sobbing, the way he did when he'd been punished as a little kid. Over the years he had tried to hold onto some little bit of dignity in these situations- it was embarrassing enough to be still getting spanked in high school. But right now he just wanted to cry out all the guilt and embarrassment, everything. He wanted to cry about how confused that stupid kiss with Rachel left him, and about how his father probably loved Greg more. He wanted to cry about how badly he'd wanted Kurt's friends to like him and how he maybe wouldn't even have tried to lie to his parents if it hadn't meant that much to him. He wanted to cry about snow shoveling and laundry and his mother's voice suggesting his father couldn't trust him.

He was crying so much he barely registered the touch of his father's hand, pulling his underwear back up.


	12. Chapter 12: 8:55PM

_Oh my God I have to get my act together._

Blaine tensed and rushed to rub tears from his face, alarmed at the shame of being such a mess. But his dad held him there a second, softly rubbing his back soothingly.

"Hey. It's okay." he said quietly. "I promise, it's all over. You're forgiven."

Blaine sniffled hard, as his dad helped him back up. His bottom was searing, and he winced as he embarrassedly pulled his sweats back on. Exhausted, he sort of stumbled back onto his bed, laying on his side with his back to his dad. He couldn't look at him right now.

Mr. Anderson breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so eager to have a punishment over with. Flexing the sting out of his hand, he stood with the intent to just give Blaine his space, but he got half way across the room and thought better of it. Blaine was curled up on his bed like a small child. He didn't need to be abandoned right now.

Coming back over to the side of the bed, Mr. Anderson sat down. Blaine first impulse was that he didn't really want him there- he definitely didn't want to talk. But when he felt a hand against his shoulder, he rolled over onto his stomach the way he did when he was little, head buried in his pillow. Smiling, Mr. Anderson rubbed his back.

"You gonna be okay?"

Blaine took a breath. "Yeah."

"I know you think your brother's some kind of a superhero but you should know he made mistakes when he was your age too."

Blaine smiled into his pillow. It was funny that his dad would bring that up, and somehow it would make him feel better. He turned his head a bit and looked at his dad.

"I miss him."

"You should give him a call. I'm sure he'd love to talk to you."

Blaine nodded.

"Maybe over spring vacation I could... go out there?"

Mr. Anderson looked thoughtful. "Well, I'm sure he's got a lot of studying to do, but I think that would be nice."

Blaine turned more towards his dad. "You'd let me go? By myself I mean?"

"Well, I would have to talk to your mother. And we have to see what Greg has to say. But I think you're old enough now I can trust you to take a train to the next state."

"I could drive."

Mr. Anderson gave Blaine a small smile. "I think right now I'd feel better if we stuck with Amtrak."

Blaine shrugged. That was stupid because he was a perfectly good driver- but, whatever.

"Okay."

"You know I trust you. I just don't trust all the other drivers on the road."

Blaine smirked, then rolled back on his stomach for his dad to rub his back some more. "Greg taught me well. No tickets so far."

"Yeah we're going to keep it that way." Mr. Anderson said, giving Blaine's bottom a pat. "Even if there is traffic on White Street some night you're trying to make curfew."

"Yes sir." Blaine said, playful.

Mr. Anderson smiled, gently scratching his fingers up and down Blaine's back. "I think it's great you want to go see your brother at school. It would be good for you to see what college is like. And- I think it's good you have someone to talk to."

"...Yeah." Blaine definitely felt like he had a lot of sorting out to do these days. Maybe his brother would be a good listener.

Mr. Anderson took a deep breath, holding his hand on Blaine's back a little too long. He used to do this when he was little and had nightmares to help him go back to sleep. When kids get older somehow there's less... moments like this. Between his awkwardness and the teenagers', no one ever wanted to touch each other.

"You had a long day, want me to turn off the light?"

"Yeah, thanks-" Blaine said, sleepiness starting to press in on him.

Mr. Anderson went over to the chest at the foot of Blaine's bed and pulled out a flannel blanket.

"It's colder tonight than you think..." he muttered, laying it over Blaine, who smiled with his eyes closed, snuggling into it.

Reaching over to turn off the lamp at the nightstand, he saw the dirty plate and fork leftover from dinner. Blaine hadn't brought it down when he was finished. Rolling his eyes, he picked it up. Whatever. Gabriel Anderson wasn't ever really going to be a "whatever" kind of father, but this he could let go. It was just a minor bump in the road, and he had to keep his focus on enjoying the time he had with his kid before he went and became all grown up on him. He tiptoed to the door, looked back at that already sleeping teenager he loved, and flipped the light switch. It was definitely time for bed.


End file.
